


Powder Burns

by PennDWebber



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennDWebber/pseuds/PennDWebber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this but let's avoid the court case.” - A Study in Pink</p>
<p>A rather fluffy post-Episode 1 AU/drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powder Burns

Sherlock turned his key in the lock and swept up the stairs of 221B Baker Street, flourishing his coattails only slightly less than he would have if he was pursuing a criminal through the streets of London. John followed gamely behind with takeaway from the Chinese at the end of the street.

Depositing the food on the counter, John watched Sherlock whirl through the flat, dropping his coat and scarf on the arm of the settee and disappearing into the rooms past the kitchen. John realized he had no idea where that hallway went. There hadn't been much time for a tour since he moved into Baker Street. Between crime scenes, being kidnapped by Practically The British Government, racing cabs through the alleys of London, and saving your new flatmate from a serial killer, somewhere in there he had missed seeing anything more than the front rooms of his new flat. As he wandered around the cluttered parlor, John heard Sherlock call out, “We still need to get the powder burns out of your fingers.”

John inspected his hand. There were no burns that he could see, but he did smell gunpowder and he was sure he would have powder residue on his hands. He moved to the sink to begin scrubbing up, taking comfort in the familiar surgeon's ritual.

“No John, we need to be thorough. Like I said, we'll want to avoid the court case.” Sherlock emerged from the back of the flat carrying a steaming bowl of soapy water and a small leather kit, which he set down on the kitchen table. He had a towel draped over one of his arms, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his strong, pale forearms.

“Remove your coat and roll up your shirtsleeves, then sit down,” Sherlock instructed as he settled down at the corner of the wooden table. When John pulled up a stool across from Sherlock, the detective wasted no time, gently scrubbing the curve between John's thumb and pointer finger with a soft brush. “You know, I could do this myself, I am a doctor after all,” John bristled slightly. Sherlock spared John only the flash of a glare from underneath his eyelashes, never pausing in his ministrations. “I know what I'm doing, and this is the sort of thing you will want to be done properly.” John looked at Sherlock's hands—with their neatly manicured and perfectly oval-shaped nails—tending to his own and acquiesced. Sherlock's quiet and clinical attitude reminded John of his own professional detachment, and he relaxed.

As he cleaned, Sherlock summarized the events of the case, running over the evidence and deductions in a near-stream-of-conscious murmur that managed to be at once engaging yet soothing, combined with the warm and lived-in kitchen, scented with Chinese take-away. The comforting spell stretched on as John realized that Sherlock's impromptu manicure had finished, but the detective's lithe hands still lingered. John's left hand trembled imperceptibly as he looked at Sherlock's fingers lacing with his own, then stilled when he brought his gaze up to meet Sherlock's direct and searching look unabashedly. “What happened to 'married to your work,' then?”

Sherlock didn't let go of John's hand as he stood and circled around the table, stepping into the vee of John's legs. “Well John, I think it's safe to say that, after this evening, I would consider you to be an integral part of my work.” Sherlock smirked and quirked an eyebrow. “After all, it makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely.”

At that John demurred slightly, flashing Sherlock the same secretive, innocent smile from the crime scene. “Yes, well...” and the last of his half-formed sentence was swallowed by Sherlock's lips, soft and insistent on his.

**Author's Note:**

> Incredibly nervous - this is the first time I have ever shared fic with anyone. My friends and I talk meta a lot, but they don't "do" fan fiction. I write a lot, but never fiction so its been an adjustment to try to find my voice. Concrit is absolutely welcome. Self-beta'd and brit-picked, so feel free to point out any corrections.
> 
> The first prompt I ever gave myself: Set just after A Study in Pink, Sherlock gives John a manicure to get rid of the powder burns/gsr after killing Jackson Hope. I took my inspiration from the impeccable manicure you see Sherlock sporting just before he takes the pill, and a bit of the dialogue at the end. Also threw in a quote from a different Sherlock because reasons <3 
> 
> (also posted to lj)


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